


A Long Road Ahead

by QueenOfNewOrleans22



Category: Bon Jovi (Band)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood and Violence, Depression, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:28:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26620675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfNewOrleans22/pseuds/QueenOfNewOrleans22
Summary: Five people from five different walks of life-Richie, determined to discover himself on a road trip with no end in sight.Jon, a drifter who is running from his past after an abusive relationship.Alec, an ex-con who is determined to make a new life. .Tico, a divorcee with a passion for painting.David, a mentally ill pianist.They don't know each other, and perhaps that's for the best, but in a span of time, a series of decisions will take them on a journey that will make them question their own personal feelings toward themselves, each other, and the world itself- not to mention long-buried secrets that will come to a rise, and a budding relationship that might become something so much more.
Relationships: Jon Bon Jovi/Original Character(s), Jon Bon Jovi/Richie Sambora
Comments: 20
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Well, shake it up, baby, now  
Twist and shout  
Come on, come on, come, come on, baby, now  
Come on and work it on out  
Well, work it on out, honey  
You know you look so good  
You know you got me goin' now  
Just like I know you would**

His mother called him 'irresponsible'. 

His father called him 'crazy'. 

But they both hugged Richie tight, and made him promise to call. 

Now, Richie was on the open road, the wind whipping through his hair and a small part of him, deep within, was regretful for leaving behind everything and everyone he knew, but Richie knew it was for a good cause, even if nobody else could see that what Richie was doing, as stupid and crazy and reckless as it was, had its benefits for everybody.

Richie had lived his entire life dancing across the line of rules and partying, and now, after two years of being the good son that everybody expected of him, Richie had broken the barrier and yet again went to the wild side. It wasn't a new feeling, but it sure was welcome. 

'Twist and Shout' was blaring on the radio, adding to the general feeling of Richie having tossed his suitcase in the trunk, waved goodbye to the two most important people in his life, and driven off toward the sunset with no real plan except the map in the compartment and a want to see the world. 

_Where_ wasn't important, and neither was _when._

By estimate, Richie figured that he was probably in New Brunswick, but couldn't be sure. He didn't care, anyways. The road was winding and long, and it didn't matter where he went or how he got there, just that the gas tank stayed full and that this new zest for life, a want to see the world in all its glory, didn't disappear. 

**Well, shake it up, baby, now  
Twist and shout  
Come on, come on, come, come on, baby, now  
Come on and work it on out  
You know you twist, little girl  
You know you twist so fine  
Come on and twist a little closer now  
And let me know that you're mine, woo**

Richie Sambora was young, handsome, charming, and was known to everybody as a jokester, always imitating people and making corny jokes that often ended with people laughing softly and shaking their heads in simultaneous amusement and exasperation. 

Even as a child, Richie was known for being an adventurous spirit who could never quite be contained into just one place. He was always out exploring the woods, trying to catch fish in creeks with his bare hands, and then he was prone to trying to cajole the other neighborhood children into playing with him, even though it was far too early and a majority of them were likely to still be sleeping. 

Richie had been an only child, and life was lonely with only his parents, which wasn't their fault. Richie loved his parents dearly, and they loved him, but couldn't keep up with their easily excited, loud, cheerful son, who sought a playmate but could only find them in children that often entertained him, but not for long. 

But as he grew older, Richie managed to force himself into the role that was expected of him. His parents seemed relieved with the sudden change after years of having to deal with a wild child, and though the role was odd at first, Richie began to become used to it, and even began to like it. He still got in trouble, yes, but that was to be expected for someone his age. 

As a teenager, he played basketball, then took up guitar, going back and forth, unable to decide if either were occupations that he wanted to pursue, but they weren't. Richie didn't know why he hadn't looked further into them, but they didn't matter now. 

For months, Richie had been saving money, planning, for this one ultimate moment. His parents hadn't understood why their son had decided to make a run for the hills, but, in a way, they seemed to approve, as if looking deep within themselves for their own youth and realizing that their son needed a few days, weeks, months, to figure himself out, and when he was ready, Richie would make a reappearance, and maybe then he would know. 

Before he'd ran for the hills, Richie had talked to his parents, listening to their concerns, and addressing them accordingly. 

"I'll miss you, honey." His mother had said, but she was smiling, and that was good- more than good, actually, _great._ "But if you want to do this, then that's up to you, okay?" Joan Sambora had always accepted her son and all the ideas that would probably never work out. 

Adam Sambora was more reserved than his wife, but nonetheless always there for his son. "Is this going to make you happy, Richard?" He asked, treading carefully. "Will this help you?" 

And Richie had looked at his parents, each of them concerned and worried, but hopeful. They wanted him to be happy, even if it involved running into his car and driving into there was nowhere else to drive to. 

"Yeah." Richie had confirmed with a nod. "It'll help me, and I know it's crazy, but it just seems so...natural. I want to do this." 

Joan and Adam had exchanged looks of mixed emotions, a silent communication, and then Richie's father had leaned foward in his chair, and pulled Richie into a hug. 

"Then we'll support you." 

**Ah, ah, ah, ah, wow  
Baby, now  
Twist and shout  
Come on, come on, come, come on, baby, now  
Come on and work it on out**

The highway was long, and relatively empty. 

Richie could see the darkness begin to creep up, but the sun managed to push back against it, and carry on, high in the sky, bright and powerful, its dying rays glowing out onto the mountains and road.

It was a picture suitable for framing. 

For the last few years, Richie had been working at the same factory that his father was the foreman at, but the job was boring and monotonous, a long, constant reminder that he was in his twenties but had yet to move out of his parents house, though Richie wasn't sure if that was the consequence or choice. 

Truth be told, Richie both yearned for adventure, and for the stability that his parents provided. To be away from them was a weird feeling, but it would surely pass. 

The more miles that went by, it was just another step toward a new life. 

Richie sighed as he drove past large mountain ranges, his fingers tightening slightly on the steering wheel. He felt like he was in one of those adventure movies, where people went on a long journey of self-discovery, and maybe that's what this whole thing was about. 

Careful to keep away from approaching cars, Richie pulled to a stop in the side of the road, weary of any ditches as he opened the passenger compartment and pulled out the folded map, grabbing a flashlight and flicking it on so he could inspect the multicolored roads and tiny towns that had been meticulously printed on the map. 

There was no plan, just want. 

Elizabeth was just ahead, and then Newark. Richie ran his thumb across the road that stretched on across the map, his dark eyes wandering, and then decided that New York would be the place to go. 

What New York would hold was a mystery, but Richie knew that a good mystery would be good. Excitement would bring some life back to the dull monotony that life held nowadays. 

Maybe repitition wasn't such a bad thing, but Richie thrived for adventure. 

With that in mind, Richie turned off the flashlight and set it on the passenger seat, folding the map and setting it back inside the compartment. ' _That's settled.'_ Richie thought to himself, pulling back onto the road, and continuing his drive into nowhere. 

**You know you twist, little girl  
You know you twist so fine  
Come on and twist a little closer now  
And let me know that you're mine**

Richie didn't know what lay ahead, but he was confident that this trip would be good for his mind, his soul. That was the whole point of the journey, after all- to sort himself out. 

And maybe, once he returned, Richie would know what he wanted to do in his life. 

He was twenty-five, for pete's sake. Shouldn't Richie have his own apartment, a girlfriend, a job that he actually wanted? Sure, Richie appreciated the fact that his father had gotten him a place to work, but it felt a little pathetic, having his father and mother help him so much, despite their constant assurances that they wouldn't have it any other way. 

But this was his chance- to figure out life, and himself.

All his life, Richie had been awaiting this moment, he just hadn't realized it. 

Richie was sure that he would remember this road trip for the rest of his life. 

**Well, shake it, shake it, shake it, baby, now  
Well, shake it, shake it, shake it, baby, now  
Well, shake it, shake it, shake it, baby, now  
Ah, ah, ah, ah**


	2. Chapter 2

**All around me are familiar faces  
Worn out places, worn out faces  
Bright and early for the daily races  
Going nowhere, going nowhere**

Sometimes, David got frustrated. 

He didn't mean to, but when the chords didn't sound right, everything started to fall apart. No matter how many times David stared at the keys with determined resilience, or looked up at his sheet music, staring at him, taunting him- it all became too much. 

But, in the end, it didn't help him feel better. 

"It's okay, mom." David said, hearing the footsteps start on the stairs that creaked and squeaked loudly, like little mice lived underneath the aged wood. He crouched down on the floor and frowned at the shattered glass of the vase, spilt water and wilting roses. 

The footsteps paused. "Are you sure?" Florence Rashbaum asked, struggling for her voice to carry. Lately, she had been quite worried about her son, who could bounce from a strange, childlike innocence to cruel and harsh on a split second. Florence loved her son more than the world itself, but sometimes had to stop in a moment of seclusion, and wonder what she had ever done in life to have been gifted a son, intelligent and sweet, who sometimes had to pause in his sonatas and stare at things that weren't there. 

"Yes." David answered, and his mother retreated down the stairs, disappearing as suddenly as she appeared, going back to her potatoes and thoughts. 

**Their tears are filling up their glasses  
No expression, no expression**

Reassured, David looked down at his mess. 

There were black things- _slugs,_ crawling all over the mess, infecting the pretty roses with their darkness, turning the glass into mush, and absorbing the water like some sort of sponge. David stared, disgusted by the sight of them as they crawled around on their slimy stomachs.

Somewhere deep in David's mind, a hidden part of his subconscious that had somehow remained untouched, David recognized it as a hallucination. The slugs weren't really there, just like the woman in red wasn't really there, just like the dog beside the bed- David wasn't crazy, but he saw things that weren't really there, and, as his mother often reassured him, that was okay. 

But he still didn't want to touch the slugs. 

**Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow  
No tomorrow, no tomorrow**

David Rashbaum was, by all means, clever, intuitive, a bright young man with a gift. 

He was a talented pianist, a willing student for anybody who had wanted to teach him. Eddie Rashbaum, his father, had been ecstatic at the fact that his son wanted to pursue music- Eddie was a trumpeter with lots of enthusiasm. 

But then, in his mid teens, things changed. 

David began to _hear_ things; whispers in his ear as he lay in bed at night, yelling on a quiet afternoon. He began to _see_ things; a woman in red who smiled so sweetly, a dog who barked like any other. He became irritable and withdrawn, often complaining about the sounds interrupting him, and breaking his concentration when all his teacher and father heard was intense silence. 

He couldn't concentrate anymore. 

Oftentimes, David would lose his train of thought. Somebody would engage him in a conversation, and he would say something that was in a completely different context to the conversation at hand. He grew paranoid, and lashed out at his parents, his older sister, anybody and everybody. 

**And I find it kind of funny  
I find it kind of sad**

At first, David was put into mental institutions that were full of people that he didn't trust, and subjected to the sort of tortures that the novels his mother sometimes read were full about. He was drugged until nothing, not even the coherent words spoken from nobody, made sense anymore. 

Of course, that point of time was gone, now. David stayed at home most of the time, because the neighbors didn't trust him. Eddie and Florence tried their best, but he was at work, and she didn't know what to do with their son, who was slowly descending into madness. 

**The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had**

The slugs were gone now, and that was okay, because they would never be missed. David went and grabbed one of the big, fluffy towels that his mother set aside for the guests that never came, setting aside the sodden roses and using the towel to scoop up the glass and soak up the water. 

Florence was humming- David could hear her, or maybe it was somebody else, but it was a nice song, he supposed, and it gave him a tiny bit of inspiration as he opened the towel and let the glass tumble into the trash. Assured that it was clear of every last bit of the broken vase, David put the towel into the hamper and went back to his piano.

The roses sat on a table. 

David sat down, and positioned his fingers over the piano, prepared to make work of his mind, fragmented and cracked. 

**I find it hard to tell you,  
I find it hard to take  
When people run in circles it's a very, very  
Mad world, mad world**


	3. Chapter 3

**Turn down the lights  
Turn down the bed  
Turn down these voices inside my head  
Lay down with me  
Tell me no lies  
Just hold me close, don't patronize  
Don't patronize me**

Tico didn't usually let himself fall so far- he was, after all, an adult. 

But in the silence of the night, and the newfound combination both freedom and loneliness, Tico couldn't find a reason not to sit on the roof of his small little house, crumbling and dark, and drink himself into oblivion, if only to forget. 

When daylight came, Tico would regret it, but not now, not when the whiskey in his hand was the only thing that prevented him from falling into the whole and total darkness that seemed to almost envelope him it's in cold embrace. 

**Cause I can't make you love me if you don't  
You can't make your heart feel something it won't**

What was the point, anyways? 

She was gone, and Tico, whose independence had always seemed so important, was left to drown his sorrows in a bottle that'd been stashed at the bottom of the cupboard for years. She had left with a suitcase in hand, and Tico didn't know what he was supposed to do now. 

It had all come so shockingly fast that only a whirlwind of emotions could be found and made sense of- anger, heartache, sadness, worry.

**Here in the dark, in these final hours  
I will lay down my heart and I'll feel the power  
But you won't, no you won't  
'Cause I can't make you love me, if you don't**

Tico Torres was a reliable person who didn't much like other people, but his seclusion could be solved with a few friendly words. By comparison, he spent most of his time in the auto repair shop that his father had owned previously after coming to America shortly after Tico had been born. 

He was told, from the very start, to be independent and strong and smart. 

But leave it to somebody who he'd known for less than five years to mess it up altogether. 

**I'll close my eyes, then I won't see  
The love you don't feel when you're holding me  
Morning will come and I'll do what's right**

He was alone, in a world where being alone seemed so, so deadly. 

But being alone wasn't such a terrible thing- nobody to tell you what to do, or how to be. Nobody to tell Tico that his painting sucked, or that he was talentless. 

**Just give me till then to give up this fight  
And I will give up this fight**

It had been so sudden, too. Sure, they'd been fighting and arguing more than usual, but one day, everything was right as rain, and the next, the door was slammed and the house seemed a whole lot colder.

Tico had been left for a guy that couldn't even keep his own kids. 

"Bye, fucking, bye." Tico drowsed, covering his eyes as the moon stared at him with judgement and clear disgust. Tico was falling apart, piece by piece, but in his defense- his wife had called him 'pathetic' while smashing his paintings on the ground, so there's that. 

The paintings were probably the only things left that mattered in Tico's world. 

Splashes of colors, mountains and seas, places that Tico would likely never see. 

Unless, of course, he got in his car and decided to do something with his miserable life. 

But what were the chances of that? Tico wasn't adventurous, or brash, nor did he frequently travel. But there was nothing stopping him, and maybe that was for the best. 

Anything could happen, and there was nothing and nobody to tell Tico what to do or how he was supposed to do it. 

But despite the faint optimism, Tico could only chuckle softly, and remember that there was nowhere to go but up. 

The world was a big place, and there was nothing holding him back besides the anger, and hurt. 

**Cause I can't make you love me if you don't  
You can't make your heart feel something it won't  
Here in the dark, in these final hours  
I will lay down my heart and I'll feel the power  
But you won't, no you won't  
'Cause I can't make you love me, if you don't**


	4. Chapter 4

**Riders on the storm, riders on the storm  
Into this house we're born, into this world we're thrown  
Like a dog without a bone, an actor out on loan  
Riders on the storm**

Alec John Such had never felt so grateful in his life. 

The air was fresh, and the wind felt good against chilled flesh, whipping through his hair. Alec had never thought that he'd get caught up in such a place as imposing and deep in its darkness quite like a prison, but now that he was out, Alec was determined to not go in again. Prison was a cold, bare space full of murderers and rapists and kidnappers, the true scum of society. 

He didn't belong in there, for all the bad that he'd done. 

Robbery was bad, and Alec would forever live with that in his conscience, but at least he didn't have to go on for another undetermined amount of years with all of those horrific things weighing him down. 

God, he couldn't imagine all of those things, and really didn't want to. 

Those years were gone and done, and Alec never wanted to go back to a life of crime and lying, sneaking around like a little rat in the night.

He was free, and with a clear mind and conscience. 

**There's a killer on the road, his brain is squirmin' like a toad  
Take a long holiday, let your children play  
If ya give this man a ride, sweet family will die  
Killer on the road, yeah  
**

Yes, he had done bad things, but the people in there...

Alec shivered just thinking about them, about the cruelty in their eyes and the smirks on their lips as they recounted their tales of their crimes, like it was all some game. 

But that was all over now- Alec had served his time, and had finished his probation without complaint. For all intents and purposes, Alec was a free man, and as he stood outside the trailer that was going to serve as his home, nothing could put a damper on his mood. 

"I'm a free man." Alec announced to nobody, and that was okay. 

People didn't matter, not really, and maybe that was a terrible thing to say, but nobody was worth a damn until they proved themselves worthy of that damn. It was the only philosophy that Alec had kept in his several years of life, and it was a pretty good one. 

**Girl ya gotta love your man, girl ya gotta love your man**  
Take him by the hand, make him understand  
The world on you depends, our life will never end

So...

What now? 

Alec had no family, no friends, no obligations. 

And so, with nothing else to do, Alec sat down on the cold, hard ground, and stared out at the wild horses that were sprinting in the distance. 

He had ruined his first chance of life, but now, Alec had been given a second chance, and he'd be damned before he threw this one away, too. 

Mistakes that piled up, but now washed away. A cursed name, broken.

Now, Alec had a pile of money that'd been earned through hard work and dedication, and a life that he was determined to keep. Prison had been a horrible place, but it had taught lessons that Alec would never forget. 

One of those lessons had been that Alec had to hold tight and cherish the life that'd been given to him. 

Alec was determined to hold onto his life, and wouldn't ever allow it to slip past his fingers ever again. It had been a mere mistake the first time, but it would be just pure idiocy the second. 

**Riders on the storm, riders on the storm  
Into this house we're born, into this world we're thrown  
Like a dog without a bone, an actor out on loan  
Riders on the storm**

Alec stood and walked back inside of his tiny trailer, which wasn't much, really, but it was a home, stable and permanent. 

There wasn't much inside, but it was a comfortable place where Alec found himself escaping to, his safe place. It was sometimes lonely, just being up in the mountains by his lonesome, but Alec found it peaceful. 

Sometimes, he sat outside, and just sat there, listening to nothing but the distant sounds of the animals that passed by. 

Alec was, by nature, a solitary person. 

He appreciated other people, but in moderation, otherwise he feared that they would drive him crazy. Talking and interacting wasn't his expertise, though Alec's motor was frequently 'fake it till you make it.'

But it only worked so much, before Alec had to be himself, and maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. 

No, he'd worked over all of those insecurities a long, long time ago. 

Alec didn't want to remember all those years, but he did, and he laughed.

For the first time in a long time, he laughed.

And in the silence of the desert, expansive and alone, it sounded happy. 

**Riders on the storm, riders on the storm  
Riders on the storm, riders on the storm**


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm all busted up, broken bones and nasty cuts  
Accidents will happen, but this time I can't get up  
She comes to check on me, making sure I'm on my knees  
After all, she's the one who put me in this state  
**

Jon looked down at the tin cup- twenty cents. 

Twenty meagre cents, a few nickels and pennies.

It wasn't anything to put in the record books, and it surely wasn't enough for a bus ticket, not even a coffee. Admittedly, the people in this tiny, derelict little town didn't seem to be in a much better state than he was, but surely, a dollar or two couldn't have hurt. 

But twenty cents was better than nothing, and so Jon emptied the change into his hand, and put it into his pocket, just adding to the two dollars that he already had. _That_ was enough to buy a cofee, but the ache in Jon's bones was less urgent than the need to run. 

Oh, how Jon wanted to run, far, far away until nobody knew his name. 

He didn't care how he got there, as long as he was alive, but the chances of that became smaller and smaller each and every passing minute. 

**Is she ultra-violent? Is she disturbed? I better tell her that I love her  
Before she does it all over again, oh god, she's killing me!**

Jon sat down and considered his options, which were rather sparse, and also rather pathetic. 

He could hitchhike, but the possibility of getting kidnapped, killed and dumped in a ditch was all too real. Just last week, he'd read in the newspaper about such an event, and he really didn't want to die, not then, and not in such a manner. 

Or he could just walk - swallow his pride and walk until his feet bled.

"You know, the best way to get to one place from another is to just accept that you ain't getting nowhere." The grizzled man on the ground said as he set down his own tin cup. 

Jon sighed, and turned on the heel of his worn boots, not interested in getting into another argument. "You're still not getting my twenty cents." He said over his shoulder. 

The homeless man's protests were drowned out by the growing distance. 

It reminded Jon of how much distance passes between himself and everybody he used to know- his parents, his brothers, _her._

They were all probably concerned, but Jon couldn't risk it. 

He couldn't be that selfish, not anymore, to risk their further involvement. 

**For now, I'll lie around, hell, that's all I can really do  
She takes good care of me, just keep saying my love is true**

A small part of Jon yearned to call his parents, but knew that he couldn't. 

Fear, paranoia, and cruel words said so. 

They were a simple call away, just a quarter and a dial, but Jon only glanced at the payphone, and felt his stomach twist with nausea as he remembered those threats and knew- _knew,_ that they weren't just simple threats. 

Those had been promises. 

Jon knew promises when he heard them, and could see how much _she_ had meant by the mere look of hostility and anger in her eyes. Jon hadn't dared say anything then, but now, he could at least honor that promise, and make sure they were okay. 

Even if he didn't turn out okay, _just please, God, let them be._

Or maybe this was all in vain. Maybe Jon was just delaying the inevitable, and that possibility was worse than everything and anything else, because that implied that Jon's weak attempts to keep himself and his family safe were all useless, and that he should just give up and dial for home, confess his misdeeds, and let his father come pick him up, so he could enjoy just a few more days of relative happiness.

But it didn't make sense, not really. 

And so Jon didn't.

**Is she ultra-violent? Is she disturbed? I better tell her that I love her  
Before she does it all over again, oh god, she's killing me!**

Where was he going? 

Jon paused mid-step, and considered the small town, filled with angry people, trapped in a world that didn't make sense. He was walking aimlessly, hoping for a sign that told him where to go, but in reality, there was nowhere to go. 

Not for people like him. 

People with jaded eyes and twisted hearts, with bruised skin and harsh words, who only wanted life to be normal but all they could do was run and hope that maybe, just maybe, things could get a little better soon.

But experience told him the opposite, and Jon had learned that experience was the best thing to listen to. 

Even if it hurt him, even if it lied, because, at least, he knew what to expect from experience. 

Everything hurt, but experience was a little more gentler in its cruelty.

But was that true? 

The answer didn't come. 

**Looking out my window for someone that's passing by  
No one knows I'm locked in here, all I do is cry**

All Jon could do was turn around in meaningless circles, and look for answers that would never come, because they, too, were afraid of so many things. 

Faces that were unfamiliar, and twisted with unsaid hostility. Scarred hands, heavy hearts. 

They peeked out their windows, locked their doors. 

They didn't like the new stranger with secrets in his eyes and a cut on his cheek, and maybe they had good reason. Maybe, they were right to give him a wide berth as he walked down the street, alone and, truth be told, more than a little scared.

Nothing could be done, Jon knew, besides pull his denim sleeves over bruised wrists, and continue to walk. 

**For now, I'll lie around, hell, that's all I can really do  
She takes good care of me, just keep saying my love is true**


End file.
